Madness
by fire-dragonz
Summary: Joker faces lobotomy and tries to think of a life without his insanity whilst Batman struggles with the morality of the situation. But possesses the madness? The city for letting this happen, the Joker or Batman? T for dark theme. Says B.Wayne I mean Bats


_Was watching Justice League 'A Better World' again and only just realised that all the Arkham inmates had lobotomy's which got me thinking of a darker version of the storyline. A one-shot about what would happen if the Joker actually did get one, mainly the lead up to it. His and Batman's POV, I realise they may be a bit out of character but I was trying to imagine how a person feels when going through such this, the whole thing freaks me out and I kinda thought to myself I wonder if this was scare the Joker? I realise also that Batman would probably never allow this to happen but I wanted to try and put across some things that would make him not want to save him so that I didn't have to do the whole – other dimension, justice league are evil kinda copied story. Please Rate and Review and let me know what you think thanks _

Joker

The pounding of feet against the cold, pristine tiles matched my slow, forced heartbeats. Escorted by two armed guards I tried for once to think of what someone 'sane' would do in this situation. Admittedly I had never been one to fear pain or even death especially if it were inflicted by my good pal Bats but this. This was something else. I never wanted to be **cured**.

Making myself focus I tried to weigh up my options and survey the area, cuffs restrained my arms and ankles and both arms were tightly held by the two officers, surely I had escaped from much greater scenarios than this before. My mind drifted back to various other wonderful escapades from massacring an entire prison canteen with a plastic tray to blowing up a whole cell block with a rubber chicken, true I had no gismos at my disposal but how hard could it be? Cracking my knuckles I prepared to swipe quickly at one of the guard's faces then sharply counter the other with a doubled elbow dig into the torso, true it wasn't all that flashy or remotely funny but desperate times call for desperate measures. My arms went forward for the attack.

But instead of success I was greeted with a blinding shock, agony surging through my body.

'Nice try Joker but we thought you might try and pull some stunt, your cuffs have been modified to release an electrical charge if they sense any rapid, unusual motion', the guard sneered.

My mind flickered, trying to conjure up some electricity related comeback but my brain was frizzled and my body weak meaning the most I was able to counter with was a groan.

As the corridor got shorter and the door ever closer my life slowly began to drain out from me, the echoes in mind, the voices I had once adored listening to were taunting me saying that this was the end, others frantically screaming to find another way out. The saddest part of it all was that I no longer cared, the many layers of the Joker fell silent in my mind and only one thing took over. Fear.

Was it fear? I had never been scared before. Raking my head I tried to remember a time where I had been genuinely frightened – the jeering crowds as my jokes fell flat when I was performing as a two-bit comedian, the constant fear of death in the dangerous underworld as Jack Napier, the acid clinging to my skin as I tried to force the Red Hood from my head, the scars that Daddy tore into my face when I was a child… Did any of those things happen? What life did I have before I was the Joker? More importantly what life would I have without him? I wanted to believe the whole thing was a sick joke I wanted so hard to laugh at the fear and the madness behind it all but I couldn't.

The door opened and I was greeted by a bright light, my eyes squinted as I tried to make out the objects surrounding me. When I came to my senses I saw the centre piece - the chair. Wasting no time I was forced into it, my shackles released only to be quickly placed in tighter ones. Finally my infamous smile started to twitch, my lips quivering trying to supress whatever was desperately fighting to break free. Laughter erupted, that dark, hysterical laughter that filled my victims with sheer terror, my voice even more twisted than before. Yet inside I knew I was only laughing because I didn't know how to show any other form of emotion.

'Stop that! Get a hold of his head!' the doctor yelled as the guards struggled to strap my forehead to the chair's headboard. When I was fully secured I let out a sigh and the laughter ceased. Trying to savour perhaps the last thoughts that I would be able to create I racked my brain for information on lobotomy, sure I had read stuff, seen films saw the helpless victim or the insane bad guy get one and come out a mindless, worthless vegetable but there had been a few success stories. What had those guys been cured of? Surely they didn't have what I have, whatever that is. Maybe it will go smoothly but is that what I want? The Joker is all I have, I don't think I was ever anyone else. If the mind of the Joker is to die then the body of the Joker should too I don't want to live another life trying to be another person. I'd be like a reversed-role of Harley or something, hopefully without that ear-piercing, whiny voice of hers. As the guards leave and the doctor begins to fiddle about with his toys, calmly withering on about how the procedures works and what not I can feel a presence in the room. He's here.

Batman

He deserves this, this is the right thing to do. After all he has done to Gotham, to you – my head constantly tries to justify the decision, trying to erase that pang of doubt from my mind. I could never kill him even after everything he has done, even though I know as soon as I catch him he will escape and ruin and destroy more lives. The cells of Arkham can't hold him, no physical thing can. But maybe this will act as a psychological cell, maybe the procedure will lock up his twisted thoughts and bring back the humanity that I believe lurks deep down in even the darkest beings. Surely he too has a shred of humanity, he had a life before he was the Joker, it's often said that I created him. If that is the case it's my duty to save him. This could be his chance to be free of the madness, this could be Gotham's greatest triumph, there will always be villains and my job will never end but no one out there holds a bigger risk to the city than he always has. It's what the citizens want. I want what the people want, so why do I not want this?

The operation is not to be filmed despite the pleading of the reporters. It was the mayor that asked for the lobotomy to be scheduled, like most leading men in Gotham he is corrupt and knows the event will get him votes in the lead up to the next election. To begin with he did want the procedure to be caught on camera, to make a big song and dance of the 'day the Joker was cured', after telling Jim that he would not change his mind or re-think his decision the Commissioner eventually chose to accept and not kick up a stir about the idea in return that the mayor promised it be kept low-profile.

I sit crouched on one of the old gargoyle beams that are scattered throughout the ancient hospital. Hidden in the shadows I have a perfect vantage point of the room. The guards have left, no doubt standing out at the door to stop entry during the operation. The only people left are the doctor, the Joker and me. He is strapped to the chair, his blood red smile imprinted on his face but I can tell he is not smiling. His whole body language is completely different, he seems resigned to his situation, his body is still, his eyes cast down at the floor. Then he looks up, looks right at me.

The stare we share seems to last forever. There is defiance in his eyes, that iron determination we both have piercing through his acidic green eyes but for the first time there is a flicker of something else, something … human? I have never seen him look so fragile. He must have sensed the sympathy that overwhelmed me because almost as quickly as it was there they meekness disappeared and he went back to looking at the floor. At that moment I want to swoop down and save him, I can't let this happen no matter what he has done we will always have a connection. I ready my batarangs aiming them at the straps that restricting his wrists but just as I go to throw a wave of memories overpower me.

I see the bloody corpse of Jason as I drag his lifeless body from the rubble, his outfit tattered and burnt his skin scattered in bruises and blood, I imagine his grin, his evil laughter as he repeatedly hits the boy with the metal crowbar, I can visualise Jason's blood covering the metal, his cries of pain that no one heard, his calls for help unanswered. I see Barbara's half-naked body surrounded by a pool of blood, I can see her pained face as she fights for breath, I recall her expression when she was told she'd never walk again, I see Jim's tears as he holds his child in his arms trying to comfort her. The way I have seen thousands of other relatives desperately hold their loved ones, trying to soothe them whilst the victim's helplessly have their faces stretched by the toxins into a malicious smile, even those that are lucky enough not to be part of his clown-styled fiascos have still paid highly with his death toll ever increasing be it through elaborate schemes, blown up buildings, gun shots to the head or just general boredom the Joker leaves a trail of blood wherever he goes. No matter how hard I try I can't loosen my grip on the batarang, I can't get the images out of my head. I can't force myself to play the hero.

The doctor approaches him the utensils at the ready, positioned to pierce through his eyelid, eager to rip out the disease that manifests in his head. Frozen, I almost want to close my eyes, I regret ever coming into the room, the whole event is making me sick.

He looks back at me and speaks out loud for the first time… maybe the last.

'You finally get it Bats, finally realise that we can't keep playing Cat and Mouse. I get that really I do but this, I'd have hoped you would at least do the honours yourself. They have said it themselves I am beyond insanity, what good do you think this will do? Even if this turns me into an upstanding citizen or a useless sack of potatoes you know that when you go to sleep I will be the last thing on your mind and the first when you wake up, you can't escape me. In the end I've won. The last laugh is on me, if this cures me I am scot-free, I won't have to recall all the evil things I've done, if it kills me then I die as I always was – The Clown Prince of Crime, a smile smeared on my face and if it does nothing? Well you know the answer to that, I will be out of here in a flash, back to wreaking havoc at every turn, back to trying to show you just how truly laughable the whole world is. The only escape you will ever have is if you drift into insanity like everyone else in here'.

He let out an incredible laugh that chilled the room, however the thing that sends shivers down my spine the most was that moment that the laughter stopped. That noise of the metal piercing through his skin. That silence.

I think on his words, the words of a madman and it scares me to think that so much of it makes sense. I look down at the chair and see myself in his place.


End file.
